The soft breeze sweeping through Velaris carries the scent of Night Court blooms—jasmine, moonflowers, and the faintest hint of citrus—mingling with the cool mist rising from the Sidra. The river hums with its steady current, a lullaby woven into the fabric of your home, soothing yet ever-present. The flowers in the garden outside the River House sway, their petals catching the last golden light of the sun as dusk unfurls its indigo embrace over the city of starlight.
You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with the familiar, grounding scent of Velaris, of home. Yet even as the peace of the evening settles over the court, quieting the streets as families gather for dinner, a weight lingers in the air—one that is always there.
Azriel watches you from afar.
He stands at the edge of the garden, half in shadow, half in light, his presence a constant thing—distant, yet never truly gone. The setting sun casts long shadows across his sharp, unreadable features, softening them in a way that almost betrays the man beneath the mask of the Shadowsinger. His wings, vast and powerful, remain tucked neatly behind him, the sheer size of them making him appear even more imposing, though you know better. Wisps of darkness curl from his shoulders, his ever-present shadows stirring as if whispering secrets only he can hear.
He wears no armor tonight. Just simple black attire that clings comfortably to his lean, muscled form, the fabric shifting with every subtle movement. The deep blue siphons on his scarred hands catch the waning sunlight, glinting like captured starlight. They rest, as they always do, at his sides—steady, restrained.
Azriel.
The whispered name carries weight, a silent acknowledgment of the Illyrian warrior who stands before you. Feared by many, revered by more. The Night Court’s Shadowsinger, whose presence alone is enough to strike fear into enemies—and yet, to you, he is something else entirely.
Your protector. Your silent, ever-watchful guardian.
Always within reach.
Always there.
Waiting.